


Daddy's Day

by Bickymonster



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: Family, Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-26
Updated: 2018-07-26
Packaged: 2019-06-16 15:24:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15440025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bickymonster/pseuds/Bickymonster
Summary: After finding a sign for Mother's Day, ten-year-old Mikey tries to learn more about the human custom.(Originally written for the Orange Crush Mikey Fanbook)





	Daddy's Day

**Author's Note:**

> I would highly recommend checking out the rest of the wonderful Fanbook. Available in all it's glory, [here](https://discoursetmnt.wixsite.com/archive/picker-orange-crush)

“Yahoo!” Mikey exclaimed as he leaned into the corner, managing to turn his skateboard perfectly. He let out another whoop of victory as he managed to keep his balance. He hadn’t even been close to falling off that time.

It had been a present from their father on his tenth mutation day; he had been asking for one for years, and finally Splinter had relented. Of course he had quickly come to regret this, when Mikey spent the rest of their mutation day skating from room to room in the lair. He had been instructed to practice in the sewers close to their home after that, and practice he had. He was already the best skateboarding turtle ever! 

Bending his knees as he spotted an approaching pile of junk, complete with ramp, Mikey headed straight for it, an excitable grin on his face. He gave a delighted cry as he jumped, trying to flip his skateboard in the process, but he totally fluffed the landing.

Mikey oomph-ed as he hit the ground and knocked air out his lungs, rolling a few feet before ending up on his shell, staring up at the rounded ceiling of the tunnel. 

“Man,” he griped, “total wipeout.”

He pushed off the ground and jumped straight back onto his feet in one easy motion, his gaze already darting around the tunnel in search of his skateboard, really hoping he wouldn’t have to fish it out of the sewer water; that would be so gross. 

“Ah ha! Found you!” he exclaimed, a grin splitting his face as he spotted it, up against the tunnel wall, back toward the pile of junk he had flown over. “You’re not getting away from me that easily,” he added, as he picked it up.

Turning it over in his hands, he eagerly checked it was undamaged. It was; all four wheels were still attached and free spinning, and not a scratch on the paint job.

“Cool,” he declared. 

He dropped the board back to his feet, and scooted around the junk pile, wanting to get a better look at the makeshift ramp. It still looked much as it had on his first approach, the large sign propped up against a tangle of discarded packaging, rope, and what looked to be parts of an old and obviously broken chair. 

It was the sign, however, that caught his attention; it had been intended to sell flowers, he guessed, from the pictures of huge bunches of them all over it. Mikey liked flowers. He didn’t get to see them often, and so took a moment to appreciate the somewhat watermarked photographs; they were still perfect in his eyes. 

“Mo… moth... mother. Mother’s Day. May... eleven,” Mikey read from the sign. “What the shell is Mother’s Day? Humans are super weird,” he declared dismissively with a shrug of his shoulder.

Turning, Mikey headed back along the tunnel the way he came. If he was going to make the jump this time, he was going to need a massive run up to get some real speed. He was going to keep trying until he landed this jump, because then he would drag Raph out here and show him how totally awesome skateboarding actually was.

\------x

“Donnie,” Mikey said, dragging the word out as he flopped over the back of the sofa right next to his brother later that evening. 

Donnie huffed out a breath, not looking up from the book he had spread open in his lap. “What is it, Mikey?” 

“What’s Mother’s Day?” Mikey asked, his curiosity getting the better of him now that he didn’t have a jump to practice. Splinter had refused to allow his youngest son to go back out again after dinner, no matter how wide or wet his imploring eyes, nor how much or often his bottom lip trembled. 

“It’s a day when humans celebrate their mothers,” Donnie told him. He paused before turning his head to peer at his younger brother curiously. “Why do you ask?” 

“Oh, I found this totally awesome ramp-sign!” Mikey exclaimed excitedly, vaulting over the back of the sofa and taking a seat cross-legged facing Donnie. “It had, like, all these flowers on it! And I was going so fast, you should have seen me, bro! I was on fire! And I did this huge jump right over it, like… voooo,” he said, gesturing his flight path with his hand. “Totally wiped out the first time, but…”

“Mikey,” Donnie interrupted, staring at him expectantly.

“What were we talking about?” Mikey asked, his face scrunching in thought.

“Something about a sign…” Donnie prompted.

“Oh, right, the sign,” Mikey said, grinning once more, though a little bashfully now. “Yeah, it had all these pretty flowers in baskets and stuff, and said Mother’s Day right through the middle. So do the humans give flowers for Mother’s Day?”

“Sometimes,” Donnie told him, closing his book and giving his brother his full attention, now that it seemed that Mikey was actually interested in learning something. “Though I believe it is more about letting their mothers know that they are appreciated.”

“Okay,” Mikey said, seemingly giving it some seriously thought. “But how? Do the flowers do that?”

“If the mother in question likes flowers, then absolutely,” Donnie informed him. “Sometimes they just do something nice for them, like make them breakfast, or take them somewhere nice. But many give cards, chocolate, flowers, or other gifts. It’s about giving or doing something they would appreciate.”

“But aren’t all presents awesome?” Mikey questioned with a furrowed brow.

“Of course, being given any gift is great, but....” Donnie paused trying to think how to explain. “You love your new skateboard, right?”

Mikey nodded enthusiastically. “It’s perfect,” he crooned.

“And I love this book on computer architecture,” Donnie said, gesturing to his own mutation day gift in his lap. “But what if Father had given them the other way around? What if you had been given this book instead.”

Mikey’s nose scrunched at at the thought. “Yeah, I’ll pass,” he stated. 

“Exactly,” Donnie told him with a grin. “Our presents are perfect, because Father knew exactly what to get each of us.”

“Oh, I totally get it, You’re so smart, Donnie!” Mikey exclaimed with a broad grin. “Thanks, bro! You’re the best!” he added, throwing his arms around his momentarily-startled brother’s shoulders for a few seconds before jumping over the back of the sofa and heading off toward the bedrooms.

\------x

“Hey, Leo,” Mikey said, bounding into his eldest brother’s candle lit bedroom. 

He jumped up onto Leo’s bed, taking a seat there and looking expectantly down at his brother. Leo was sat, cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed and breathing steady, just how Father had taught them. 

Leo took a deep breath, before opening one eye to peer up at him. 

“I’m meditating, Mikey,” Leo told him dismissively, closing his eye again. 

“I know, but I have a really important question,” Mikey told him eagerly, the bed springs creaking softly as he shifted restlessly. 

Leo sighed and opened both eyes this time, staring at his youngest brother expectantly. 

“What's the date?” Mikey asked. 

“The… date,” Leo echoed in disbelief. “You said it was important,” he said huffily, closing his eyes again and trying once more to slow his breathing.

“It is important,” Mikey all but whined. “And you are the best at that caladar thing.” 

“Calendar,” Leo corrected with a sigh, giving up on his meditation and unfolding himself from his position and standing in one fluid motion. 

“Yeah! That,” Mikey agreed, nodding his enthusiasm, bouncing himself off the bed and back onto his feet in one smooth movement, before grinning up at his older brother. “Can you show me where it tells you what the day is?”

“Sure, why not,” Leo agreed, “but next time, wait until I’ve got my eyes open.”

“I was waiting,” Mikey informed him, as he bounded along after Leo as they left the room, heading toward the dojo. “I sitted on your bed and then you did open your eyes.”

“One eye, Mikey,” Leo insisted. “I opened one eye. To glare at you, because I couldn’t focus with your big, boggly eyes staring at me and the bed squeaking.”

“They’re not boggly,” Mikey said with a pout, “they’re blue. And it not my fault your bed is all squeaky,” he insisted as they walked through the living room. 

“Actually,” Donnie stated without looking up from where he was still sat on the sofa, reading his book, “your repeated use of all our mattresses as trampolines will have put strain on the internal springs, and is likely at least partially responsible for their current creakiness.” 

“Nobody asked you, Donnie,” Leo and Mikey said in unison both of them letting out a short giggle, before entering the dojo. 

Splinter was teaching Raph a few kicks, another attempt to get Raph’s growing temper under control, but the boys paid their father and brother no mind as they made their way across the space. The large calendar, complete with the animals of the zodiac hung on the wall across from the main doors, and together the two brothers approached.

“That’s a lot of numbers,” Mikey said with a uncertain frown, as he looked up at it. “Which one is ours?”

“They don’t belong to anyone, Mikey,” Leo explained with uninhibited exasperation.

“I knew that,” Mikey declared happily. “What are the numbers again?”

“Each number applies to a day,” Leo explained, “and everyday the number gets bigger, until it gets to the end of the month, and then the numbers start at one again.”

“Okay…” Mikey said, hesitating looking at the blocks with the numbers in them. He hated things with numbers and was convinced they were just created to confuse people. He had learned to count and that was more than enough for him. “So,” he said as he looked toward Leo, “which one is ours?”

Leo sighed impatiently, too used to his youngest brother to actually be annoyed. “Today’s date is the sixteenth,” he informed him. “Which is right… here. And tomorrow it'll be the seventeenth.”

Mikey blinked up at the calendar on the wall as Leo pointed out two little boxes next to each other, in turn. Knowing what day it was helped him locate where the eleventh was, but it didn’t help the fact that the day had already passed. 

“Sooooo, when will it be May eleven again?” Mikey asked curiously. 

“The eleventh was last week,” Leo told him, turning to frown at him in confusion. “It's not going to be May eleventh again for nearly a whole year.” 

“Oh.” Mikey turned sadly toward where Raph was still practicing kicks with their father. “That's a long time.” 

“It is…” Leo agreed warily. “What’s so important about May eleventh?”

“Nothing, just curious, dude,” Mikey declared, turning back to Leo, a grin already splitting his face once more. “Thanks, you’re the best,” he added before dashing out of the room, leaving a very confused elder brother behind.

\------x

As the evening wore on, Leonardo had bid them all goodnight and gone to practice his meditation once more, before putting himself to bed. Raphael had practiced his newly learned kick into exhaustion. Splinter had had to all but drag his stubborn son to bed, bribing him to sleep with promises of more ‘cool new moves’ the following day. And by the time he had returned from Raphael’s room, Donatello had fallen asleep, curled up around his book and had to be carried to bed.

Michelangelo, however, was still going strong. 

“But I don’t want to sleep,” the young turtle protested, tearing his eyes away from the television, which Splinter had just turned off, to peer imploringly up at his father.

“The hour has grown late, Michelangelo,” Splinter said sternly, herding the youngest of his children off the sofa and toward the bedrooms. “Even you, my energetic child, require rest.”

“But resting is boring!” Mikey pointed out, needing his father to understand this important fact. “There are so many awesome things to do instead!”

“Certainly, my son,” Splinter agreed, nodding sagely, as they entered Michelangelo’s bedroom. “But without sleep, you will not possess the energy required to undertake such tasks.” 

“But I have energy,” he told him, jumping up onto his bed. “Look how high I can jump!”

“Admittedly impressive,” Splinter said fondly, a small smile on his face. “However, the hour is late, and as the terribly mean, boring and strict father I am, I must insist you at least attempt to sleep.” 

“You’re not mean,” Mikey declared with an outraged gasp, jumping off the bed and landing on the floor next to his father. “And your only little bit boring, but that’s because you’re old.”

“Be that as it may, this old rat requires sleep,” Splinter pointed out, his hands resting on Mikey’s shoulders and leading him over to the side of the bed. “And I will be unable to truly rest until all my sons are safely out of trouble, tucked into their own beds,” he pointed out, retrieving the bedraggled bed covers, which had been left half on the floor, as Mikey scrambled back up onto the mattress.

“Okay,” Mikey agreed reluctantly, huffing poutily, “you should go sleep then. I’ll not cause trouble, promise,” he told his father earnestly, as Splinter laid the bed covers out over him, tucking them around his youngest’s shoulders. “Can I look at my comics? I’ll stay in bed while I do,” he promised.

Splinter sighed tiredly but bowed his head and pressed a hand quickly to Michelangelo’s shoulder, before his son could jump back out from under the covers. It had been a long day and he had no desire to spend half the night repeatedly putting the young turtle back in bed. As long his youngest was in his bedroom, that was close enough, and he would take that victory. 

“I shall fetch them for you, my son,” Splinter insisted.

He waited for Mikey to relax in the bed before moving over to the cluttered shelving unit, where most of the comics appeared to be stacked, along with many of his son’s toys and other belongings. He sighed at the mess, but decided to postpone that particular battle for another day. He picked up the top three comics and turned back to the bed, to find Michelangelo already sitting up and grinning eagerly. 

“Do not read long,” Splinter instructed firmly as he handed the comics over. “Sleep is important.”

“I know,” Mikey insisted happily, as he pulled the first of the comics open in his lap. “I’ll sleep later.”

“See that you do,” Splinter said with a fond chuckle. 

He knew he would have a tired son to deal the following day, but that would just make tomorrow night’s bed time that much easier. He ran his hand over Mikey’s head, watching him for a few moments, before leaving the room. 

Mikey waited until the door clicked shut before closing his comic book and sliding out from under the covers. He shuffled over to the shelves, where his father had found the comics, and dug through the numerous toys stacked there. 

“Yes!” he exclaimed after a few moments, when he pulled a small plastic tub free from the mess. 

Mikey grinned happily at the contents; he had eight crayons, well used, but in a great range of different colours, including his favourite, orange. He dragged several sheets of paper from one of the higher shelves, and lay, plastron down, on the floor, with his supplies in front of him. 

He selected a bright blue crayon from the box and set to work. He might have missed the day the sign had told him, but that didn't mean he couldn’t still do something nice.

\------x

“Nooo…” Mikey whined, stamping his foot on the seat of the chair he was standing on. It was the only way he could reach the kitchen counter properly. “Stupid egg,” he grumbled with a pout.

“What ya doing?” 

Mikey looked up in surprise, blinking at Raph. His older brother was standing in the doorway, empty glass in hand and suspicion in his eyes.

“Nuffin’,” Mikey told him evasively, quickly holding the shattered egg shell behind his back and smiling with exaggerated innocence. 

Raph fixed him with an extremely skeptical expression, before approaching the sink and going up on tiptoes to turn the tap on. He filled his glass and turned off the tap, before turning back to Mikey once more. 

“Don’t look like nothin’,” Raph pointed out. “Looks like you’re breaking eggs all over the counter.”

“I was tryin’ to get them in the bowl,” Mikey insisted dramatically, dropping the shell in his hand onto the egg-covered counter. “But they wouldn’t work right. And shell kept on getting mixed in.”

Raph narrowed his eyes further, as though giving something serious consideration. Mikey shuffled nervously on his chair under the intense scrutiny, but after a few long moments, Raph huffed, clunking his glass down on the clean patch of counter next to the sink. 

“There any eggs left?” he asked as he approached his little brother. 

“Uh-huh, lots! I only broke four,” Mikey said with an eager nod, moving over on the chair to let Raph climb up next to him. “There’s… one, two, three… four… five… six... see, lots left,” he trailed off, growing tired of counting. 

“We’re going to need a clean bowl,” Raph told him, scrunching his nose up at the mess Mikey had made. 

Mikey threw his arms around Raph’s shoulders for a few seconds before jumping off the chair and fetching another bowl from the cupboard. He hurried back and passed it up to Raph, before scrambling back up onto the chair.

“Okay, ya watchin’?” Raph asked, as he picked up an egg from the box on the counter. 

Mikey nodded eagerly, his eyes fixed on the bowl as Raph cracked the egg on the edge and emptied the contents into the bowl. He smirked at Mikey for a moment before picking up a second. 

“How many of these do you need?” he asked, as he broke the second egg.

“Err…” Mikey hesitated, his face scrunching up as he considered the question. “Two. No… four. No... three,” he said, smiling once more as he nodded his approval of his decision. “Yeah, three eggs.”

“Ya sure you don’t want to think about that a bit longer?” Raph teased, raising an eye ridge at his brother. 

“Three eggs, Raphie, please,” Mikey implored, peering up at his brother with wide, pleading eyes. “I need them.”

“Yeah, I ain’t gonna even ask what for,” Raph told him with an amused huff, cracking the third egg into the bowl. “You good now?”

“Thanks, bro,” Mikey said happily, throwing his arms around Raph again. “You’re the best!” 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s nothin’,” Raph said dismissively, shrugging out of Mikey’s hold. He patted Mikey on the shoulder before jumping down from the chair and going to fetch his glass of water. 

Mikey climbed down from the chair top and moved the bowl of freshly cracked eggs onto the seat, pushing the whole thing across the room toward the stove. He then dug out a frying pan and climbed back onto the chair, lifting the bowl up onto the counter next to him. Raph watched on with a bemused expression, as though considering just how worried he needed to be. 

“Just don’t burn the kitchen down or nothin’,” he said after a few moments, shaking his head, having apparently decided that this really wasn’t his problem.

“Okay, I won’t!” Mikey told him confidenty, as he pressed and turned the button on the stove, just as he had seen their father do on numerous occasions. “Dude!” he exclaimed happily as a small ring of flames appeared. “So awesome,” he declared as he clunked the frying pan onto the heat and tipped the eggs right in. 

He watched them start to cook for a moment, grabbing a spatula from the jar on the counter and shoved the cooking eggs around the pan. He had always loved watching his father cook, and even been allowed to help a time or two. However, doing this on his own was easier than he thought it would be. 

He scrunched his nose up at the boring looking breakfast, convinced that something was missing. 

“Cheese!” he suddenly exclaimed, launching himself off the chair in the direction of the refrigerator. 

He yanked it open with all his might and grabbed the block of cheese from the middle shelf. He brought that and a knife back over to the stove, and clambered back up once more. 

“Uh-oh, pretty sure you is done,” he told the eggs, turning the button on the stove back to match the others, and checking under the pan that the fire was gone. Raph would be really cross if he burned the kitchen, when he had been specifically told not to. 

Grinning at his success, he started cutting some chunks off the block of cheese, putting them on top of the omelette before folding the eggs in half so that the cheese was in the middle. 

“Perfect,” he declared proudly. 

\------x

Splinter woke early, the near silence of the lair indicating that his sons were still sleeping. Admittedly, all four of his boys were all perfectly capable of being quiet when it suited them, it was just that it didn’t suit them often. As such, he pushed himself out of bed, intending to make the most of the morning’s peace and quiet. 

He shouldered on his robe and made his way to the door, intending to meditate in the dojo until Leonardo, almost always the first of his children to rise, would join him. Opening the screen door, however, he was cut short by the sight of his youngest son on the floor. 

Michelangelo was fast asleep, snoring softly and curled around a plate, which seemed to be holding an omelette. His small three-fingered hand just inches from a colourfully decorated piece of paper. Splinter crouched down to get a better look. 

‘Best Daddy Day’ was written on it in large blue letters, surrounded by pictures of flowers, trees and little green figures he assumed were supposed to be his sons. There also seemed to be a few teacups and what looked suspiciously like pictures of cheese. 

It was… wonderful. His heart ached with the obviously love and effort his son had put into it. And he presumed that the omelette was intended to be his breakfast. He had no idea what had prompted such a sweet and considerate gesture from his youngest son, but he was undeniably touched. 

Bending down, he lifted Michelangelo up into his arms, the small turtle’s head lolling on his shoulder as he carried him toward his bedroom. He gently lowered his son into the bed, before lifting the blanket off the floor once again, pulling them back up around him. 

Sleepy eyes peered blearily up at him. 

“Sleep, my son,” Splinter instructed softly, running a hand affectionately over Michelangelo’s head. “Thank you for your wonderful gifts.”

“Happy Daddy’s Day, Daddy,” Mikey said through a yawn. “Thanks for all the Mommy and Daddy things you do,” he added, yawning again. Rolling over and curling up into a little ball around his stuffed bear, he snuggled down into his blankets.

“You’re welcome, my son,” Splinter said quietly as he left the room,awed by his child’s words. 

He shut the door to the bedroom behind him and returned to the dojo. He picked up the picture Michelangelo had drawn and placed it upon the shelf of momentos, using the picture frames to keep it in place. He smiled at it fondly before turning to pick the plate up from the floor. 

With a deep inhale, he found himself smiling. Cheese omelette, his favourite, and not a bad one for a first try. And so he made his way to the kitchen, intending to reheat and then consume the first meal that any of his children had made for him.

He quite liked Daddy’s Day he decided.


End file.
